Hold Me, One Last Time
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: Written for the Points and Prompts Competition on the HPFC. Romilda is heartbroken, but help comes from the strangest of places.


**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise. **

**A/N - Written for the Points and Prompts competition on the HPFC, using the prompts - Back, Nearly Headless Nick, Romilda/Ron, Hold Me, Lucretia/Newt. I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review. **

Romilda run down the corridor, tear's streaming down her face. She didn't know where she was heading, just that she needed to get away from the common room. She couldn't believe he would stand there, bold as brass and kiss _her_. Hermione Granger had everything and it wasn't fair dammit! Brain's, beauty, and now the boy. Romilda's boy.

Everyone thought Hermione would end up as Harry's girl. Even the Weasley Twin's wouldn't give odds against it, they seemed so perfect for each other. But, of course that would be too easy. Hermione had taken the one person Romilda wanted, and it hurt, because Romilda knew she could never hope to compete.

Slowing her pace, Romilda opened a door, entering an empty classroom. She sat down on the floor, resting her head on her knee's as she released the hurt she was feeling.

"Miss Vane, are you quite alright?"

Romilda looked up in shock, relaxing a little when she saw it was just Nearly Headless Nick.

"I'll be fine, thank you for asking, Sir Nicholas," she was proud to admit that her voice only shook a little, though the hiccup at the end spoilt the effect somewhat.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" The somber ghost asked.

"Unless you have the cure for heartache, not really," she replied. She wished he would go away and leave her to her misery.

"I remember, many year's ago now, a young girl not unlike yourself asked me the same question in this very room. I am afraid there is no cure for such an affliction, but time, as they say is a healer."

Romilda tilted her head, curious despite herself.

"She left a diary here when she left the school, leaving the instruction's that if any girl should feel the same, I was to show them the location of the book. If you would like to read it, I am quite willing to show you the way?"

Romilda thought for a second, wondering why she felt such a pull to read this girl's diary, wondering why she was suddenly so interested in someone else when only minute's ago she was wallowing in self pity. The answer came from somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she wanted to forget her own pain, if only for a little while. She stood, nodding to Nick as she did so, and he led her out of the room and back down the corridor.

Romilda followed the ghost through the maze of corridor's, wondering where on earth he could be taking her, when he stopped in front of another door.

"It is in there, dear girl. I hope it make's you feel better."

She watched as the ghost drifted off through the opposite wall. Oh well, she was here now, she may as well take a look. Opening the door carefully, she walked into the room. Sitting on the only table in the room, was a book, an old looking book. She picked it up gingerly, scared of it falling to pieces in her hand. Opening the front cover, she read the inscription on the first page.

_I leave this book in the hopes it will heal the heart's of any girls feeling as bad as I once did._

Intrigued, Romilda pocketed the book and headed for the common room. Hopefully, Hermione and him will have left by now, and she could sit and read in front of the fire. She wondered if this book could help her, could make her feel better. She doubted it, but she had learned long ago to follow her instincts. Her instincts were telling her that this book was important.

She was glad to find the common room almost empty when she arrived there, finding only a handful of people still up, most of them writing feverishly, obviously trying to complete essay's they had left to long. She took one of the comfy chairs by the still crackling fire, and took the book from her pocket. With a sigh, she began to read.

_The first time we met, I fell in love with him. A high society ball, the first of many I attended over the summer holidays, was the setting in which our eyes met across a brightly lit ballroom. He was older, much older, yet the chemistry was almost overwhelming. I watched as he faltered in whatever he was saying to the man beside him, and I feel my cheeks heat up. That summer defines who I am now, for the better and the worse. That summer changed me forever. That man changed me forever. I wonder occasionally if I ever had a lasting effect on him. That man was Newt Scamander. I knew him on sight, of course I did, I had studied his book at school many times. He looked much different that what I imagined of him, not stuffy and self important at all. He looked younger than his age would have you think, an air of sophisticated ease surrounded him._

_We did nothing more that exchange a few charged glances that evening, but suddenly, the ball's I had been dreading, I was looking forward to. I was hoping he would be at them, hoping he would seek me out, though I didn't truly expect him too. He was a famous Author, a well respected man in the ministry, what use would he have for an awkward just turned seventeen year old? That just show's what little I knew then, prove's how innocent I was. Oh he had a use for me, and for a time, I was very happy with them uses. I wanted more though, more than he was ever prepared to give me. I thought we were courting, albeit in private, I believed he loved me as I loved him. I expected us to be together forever. Looking back at that time, I see now just how naive a seventeen year old can be, and the thought makes me a little sad. I wish, in a way, I could have kept ahold of that innocence for a while longer, but it was not to be._

_Strange as it is, I don't regret what happened between us. I don't wish the secret meetings, the chaste kisses, the longing glances, never happened, because they made me who I am now. They made me stronger, despite the pain they brought me. My mother, Melania, still asks what happened to change my view's on the world so quickly, but I will never tell her. She will tell my father, and as much as Newt hurt me, I do not wish to see him ruined. My father has the power and the money to see to that._

_The only thing I regret, is not walking away from him with my head held high. I begged and pleaded with him not to leave me, but he was adamant. He was to marry Porpentina Smith, the middle class woman of fair decent breeding, he had apparently been wooing for the last two years. Now that I am past the heart break of my first real love, the very thought of this makes me smirk. He passed up Lucretia Black, an upper class girl, of exemplary breeding, for a middle aged wannabe. It is his loss after all, not truly mine._

_Of course it didn't always feel that way. If you have been led to this book by the only ghost in the castle who had any class, regardless of the fact he was the Gryffindor house ghost, Sir Nicholas, then you most know that I felt much the same as you surely do now. That is the reason I am leaving the diary behind. To show any young girl who happens across it, that first love does not always last, and while that hurts very much, you will get over it eventually. I am positive you have shed tears already, and there may well be many more to come, I know I shed enough to fill a river, but you should know that you are strong enough to get passed it._

_While you read my diary of that summer, remember that while it may be different times in which we live, (it is currently 1942), love is never changing, it will bring the same joy and pain for as long as the world still turns. Remember that I am just a girl, the same as you, and that the heartbreak I suffered, and that you are currently suffering, has been suffered a million times before and will be suffered a million times after. Love is what make's us who we are, the good, the bad, and even the in-between. Remember that, and remember not to make my mistakes. Any man who turn's you away, or decide's they want someone else, or whatever other reason they have, are not worthy of you. They do not deserve your tears, they do not deserve to hear you begging, and they do not deserve the love you have to give. When you find the person who is worthy, you will know._

Romilda wiped her face. She hadn't even realised she had released yet more tear's as she read the letter at the beginning of the diary. Closing the book, she decided she would finish it tomorrow, perhaps under the tree by the lake. Summer was drawing in, and the heat was definitely welcome. She stood, stretching as she did so, and slowly made her way to the girl's staircase. Before she could reach it, she was interrupted by a voice that made her insides freeze.

"Romilda, please wait, let me explain."

"There is nothing to explain. You chose her, and I accept that. Please, leave me alone."

She heard him walk towards her, still she didn't move. She didn't want to face him, knowing if she did that her resolve might break. She felt his hand on her shoulder and she flinched away.

"Look at me. Please."

Closing her eyes, she turned slowly, turned to face the boy who had caused her this pain, but who she could not hate, even if she wanted to.

Opening her eyes, she looked upon the freckly face of Ron Weasley, slightly pleased to see that he looked as guilty as he sounded. His face was pale, his eye's held genuine sadness.

"I...I'm sorry. I do like you, I really do, but... I love her, I think I always have."

Romilda nodded slowly. "Hold me, one last time?"

As he drew her to him, wrapping his arm's around her, she fought the tear's, fought the pain as she memorised every second of the last embrace she would ever share with Ron Weasley.

As they parted, she offered him a small smile, which he returned. He stayed where he was as she turned to the stairs, she could feel his eye's on her as she walked up them, closing the door at the top behind her. She didn't look back and she was proud of that small accomplishment. Perhaps she could get passed this after all. Still holding Lucretia's diary in her hand, she sat down on her bed, placing it carefully under her pillow.

She still didn't know why she was so drawn to the diary, but she would be sure to put it back where it belonged before she left the school. After all, history was bound to repeat itself, as history always does.


End file.
